


West Elm

by destielpasta



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Blowjobs, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Frottage, Healthy Communication, Hotel Sex, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Outdoor Sex, Road Trips, Smut, Travel, Vacation, Victor drives a car and has zero chill about it, mild homophobia, mild homophobic slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 14:43:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9329684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielpasta/pseuds/destielpasta
Summary: Victor and Yuuri take a much needed break, traveling to America to stay at a quaint B&B and have a spa-like experience.ORThat time when Victor and Yuuri have a nervous flight, miss their train, fight a little, and then skate at a rink in the middle of nowhere all while having time to canoodle a bit because they just can't keep their hands off each other.





	

The overhead sign dings, lighting up to remind them fasten their seat belts as the planebegins its descent into JFK airport. Victor stows his magazine in the bag under his seat and nudges Yuuri from where he leans against his shoulder, asleep. 

“We’re landing soon.”

“Ugh,” Yuuri says with his eyes still closed, a yawn possessing him before he can say more. One hand searches out blindly for his glasses. 

Victor chuckles and retrieves them from their place on his lap, placing them on Yuuri’s face. He blinks a few times, clearing the sleep from his eyes. 

“Good morning,” Yuuri says, more of a croak than anything. 

Victor’s heart tightens, and he brushes a few strands of hair away from Yuuri’s face. “Bless you, I wish I could sleep like you do on long flights.”

The captain’s voice crackles to life on the intercom, giving the weather report in Queens. Yuuri laces his fingers with his when the plane begins its true landing, squeezing just enough to be noticeable. They both fly too much to be openly nervous fliers, but Victor responds to this ritual with familiarity now back. He squeezes his fingers, and leans his head against Yuuri’s shoulder. 

Yuuri’s nerves are unfounded, however; the plane touches down without issue. 

Yuuri shoulders his way into the aisle, unloading their carry-ons. Silver medal-earning athlete that he is, he shoulders his duffel bag with a grunt while handing Victor his light tote bag, shooting him a dirty look in the process. 

Victor _has_ been been to America, of course. But this time he isn't weighed down by three or four skating costumes in his carry-on along with a heavy pair of skates. Yuuri had looked at him like he was insane when he packed his skates in his checked bag instead of his carry-on. 

“This trip is for us,” he said by way of explanation, “My skates are not the first priority. Who knows, maybe I’ll even leave them home!”

Yuuri shrugged, pointedly putting his own skates into his carry-on in protest. 

“I'm not interested in breaking in a new pair of skates when the airline loses them.”

Victor responded by tickling him relentlessly until he collapsed onto the bed. 

The airport is crowded with weekend travelers, but they pass through security and customs without fuss. Victor smugly picks up his checked bag from the baggage claim.

They catch a yellow cab outside of the airport.

Yuuri stares out the rain-drizzled window as they cross the Queensboro bridge into Manhattan. Victor peruses his phone while Yuuri continues to wake up, flicking through instagram to see where his international friends were heading for their time off before training starts up again. Chris and his partner were sipping clear tequila on a beach in Mexico, and Victor smiles to see that Pichit was back home surrounded by his family. 

Their hotel for the night is off of Madison Avenue, one Victor had stayed in during a junior competition over ten years ago. This time there are no reporters around, no one vying for a quote from the new Russian prodigy. He’s simply Victor, here with his fiancee to enjoy a week away from training. They check in without being recognized, and go up to their room.

Yuuri collapses on the bed as soon as they’re inside, groaning with an arm thrown over his eyes. 

“I’m so tired, Victor,” he says, voice comically muffled by his sleeve.

Victor toes off his shoes and lies down beside him on his side, stroking Yuuri’s other arm over his jacket.

“Is my Yuuri tired from the flight?”

Yuuri nods from behind his sleeve.

“Does my Yuuri want to have a relaxing evening before our trip tomorrow?” Victor twirls a piece of black hair between his fingers.

Yuuri nods again, peeking from behind his arm to lean into Victor’s touch. Victor adjusts himself so that he’s closer, touching his lips to Yuuri’s for the briefest of moments. Yuuri melts, immediately turning onto his side to press against the line of Victor’s body. Victor never tires of the way Yuuri responds to him, always with a tone of surprise and want. 

They kiss for a while, the quiet sounds of their lips meeting mixing with the muted backdrop of bustling Manhattan beyond the shaded window. Yuuri’s movement’s are almost sleepy; the way he lays a hand in Victor’s hair before forgetting about it and allowing it to fall above his own head, opening up for Victor to guide him onto his back to better access his mouth.

“Hmmm,” Yuuri hums as Victor traces a path down his chest with his free hand, “I think I need a shower.”

“Why?” Victor asks, dipping his head to kiss at the soft skin of his neck, “You taste good now.”

“Victor…”

Victor sighs, flipping onto his back with the back of his hand against his forehead like a damsel in distress.

“My lover has rejected me!”

“I’ll be right back!” Yuuri says as he rummages through his toiletry bag.

“I shall be waiting, languishing…” Victor says, catching Yuuri’s smirk through one eye cocked open before he ducks into the bathroom. 

The shower starts a few moments later, Yuuri’s off-key singing starting a few moments later. Victor turns on the television, finally removing his jacket and getting comfortable on the bed. He’s flipping through his social media accounts again when a new text flags across the screen from Yuuri’s sister, Mari.

_Did you land in New York?_ The text reads in english.

_Yes! Greetings from the Big Apple!_ He types back, smiling thinking about Yuuri’s often gruff but loveable sister.

_Good. Yuuri is always shit about texting back._

Victor chuckles, exchanging a few more pleasantries before Mari wishes him good night, guessing the time difference. It had been a while since their last visit to Hasetsu, and Victor’s stomach grumbles from the thought of a pork cutlet bowl. He thinks back to the warmth and welcome of the Katsuki house, arms open and ready to accept Victor into their midst. 

Yuuri emerges a few minutes later, hair damp and with naught but a towel around his waist. Victor puts his phone away as he grabs for his glasses on the nightstand.

“Your sister texted me. To see if we landed safe.”

Yuuri makes a frustrated sound, rifling through his bag until he finds his own phone, worry pulling his face into it’s anxious lines. “I should have thought to text her–she even tried to call.”

“No harm done. We chatted for a while.”

“Oh yeah?” Yuuri looked suspicious, as if whatever he and his sister could cook up in a private conversation was more than he could bear.

“Yuuri,” Victor starts as Yuuri pulls on a pair of sweatpants from his suitcase.

“Did you set an alarm for tomorrow? We have an early train–”

Victor glances at his phone. “Sure, yes, I will, but Yuuri, I want to ask you something.”

“Because I don't want to be late to the Inn, I'm not sure how a Bed and Breakfast is different from a hotel but I don't want to mess it up and the owners said they’re strict about reservations–” Yuuri stops, t-shirt in hand, as if just realizing that Victor had said something. “I'm sorry. What's your question?”

“Would you rather have gone home to Hasetsu? Instead of this vacation I mean.”

Yuuri’s eyebrows dip in confusion. “What do you mean? We’ve been planning this for months now–”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Yuuri sighs, pulling the t-shirt over his head and sitting on the side of the bed. Victor still leans back against the headboard, fully dressed and beginning to feel the first vestiges of fatigue.

“No, I’m glad we’re here. Going home is a different trip, it wouldn’t just be about… us,” he blushes as he says it, “And I wanted to come to America with you. This was my home for almost five years.”

“So why not go to Detroit like we originally planned?” Victor asks, sitting slightly forward, “You could have shown me your old rink and your school.”

Yuuri looks down, his face lost in genuine thought. A few months ago he would have perceived this as an attack, that Victor was angry with him, but now he accepts that Victor will always try to understand him better than he did only moments before. 

“I miss Detroit,” Yuuri says, his voice level, “But everything that was home there is gone. Phichit trains at his home rink now–my friends from college have graduated and moved on.” He shrugs.

Victor reads between the lines. “And yet you still feel drawn to America.”

Yuuri doesn’t answer for a few moments. When he does he looks up, his eyes shine. “Somewhat. I don’t know why. America should hold no weight for me now. But how did you know?”

Victor smiles. “I know by now that you choose your words very carefully, Yuuri. I also know that I feel the same way about St. Petersburg.”

“You do?”

He nods. “It is home, to be sure. I should feel the same way you do at Hasetsu while I’m there. But when I go back there it feels empty. I’ve never been very close with my parents. My rink is there, but…”

Victor stops, letting his words trail off. He’s used to everyone hanging off of his last words, asking “but what?” when he allows his thoughts to trail off into nothing. Everyone except Yuuri.

“My rink is there,” he finishes, “But I feel more at home in Hasetsu than anywhere else in the world. With certain company, of course.”

Yuuri’s small smile is warm enough that Victor stares, tucking the memory of it away for a later date. Yuuri leans forward, gently brushing his lips against the corner of Victor’s mouth.

Victor shivers, and Yuuri shifts until he is kneeling on the bed next to him, holding Victor’s face with two hands. His hands shift down, until he is pressing on his shoulders until they are both lying down. He swings one leg over Victor’s hips, straddling him as he buries his faces in his neck. 

Victor plunges one hand into Yuuri’s still-damp hair, laughing softly as Yuuri trails kisses along the plane of his neck. “Now you smell fresh as a daisy and I still reek of the airplane–”

“Victor?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

Victor groans as Yuuri surges up to kiss him, lips and body insistent as he presses down where their hips meet. They're both getting hard, but this is a slow build; Victor intends on taking his time. He tugs slightly on Yuuri’s hair, tracing a path down his back with his other hand, feeling all the curves and muscles through the thin material of his pajamas. Yuuri’s legs tighten around his hips, his kisses growing more insistent. 

Victor flips them over, desperate to feel more of Yuuri’s body underneath his, opening his mouth to trace his lips with his tongue. Yuuri gasps into his mouth when a hand finds its way behind his knee, hitching it tighter aroundVictor’s hip. 

Victor buries his head in the crux between Yuuri’s neck and shoulder, biting softly as he moves his hips experimentally. Yuuri arches up beneath him, running his fingers down Victor’s back to grip at his ass, pulling him closer. 

Victor pulls away with a sigh. 

“You have too many clothes on.”

Yuuri relaxes back, his smile seductive in its utter relaxation and confidence. “So do something about it.”

Victor’s eyes widen, never used to way Yuuri responds to him now. Their physical relationship had started off slow, and built to a level of comfort and respect he had never achieved before with a lover. 

He ducks his head down, settling on his shirt first. He moves it up slowly, kissing up his stomach before tending to one nipple while moving his thumb over the other. Yuuri squirms beneath him, making the most beautiful whimpering sounds. Soon he grows impatient, pawing at the buttons of Victor’s button-down until he sits back to quickly unbutton it himself. 

Skin to skin, Yuuri comes alive again, running a hand down Victor’s chest and letting it dip slightly below the button of his pants. 

Victor hisses, pulling back and meeting his eyes. “What do you want from me?”

Yuuri pulls him back down, pressing their lips together in an open-mouthed kiss. He pulls back, eyes glossy with want. 

“Touch me. I want to feel you against me.”

Victor doesn't need much more of a request than that. He quickly pulls Yuuri’s sweatpants off, impatient enough from the way Yuuri tilts hips up, cock hard against his bare stomach,that his own pants only make it to around his knees. 

Victor straddles his hips, sighing at the feeling of skin against skin. Yuuri sits up, taking Victor’s hand in his own and lacing their fingers together. He kisses the back of his knuckles where his ring sits, eyes hooded as Victor watches him, nearly coming undone when Yuuri opens his hand to lick a long stripe up his palm. 

“Touch me,” he repeats, lying back down. 

Victor chases him there, taking both their cocks in hand giving firm stroke as he steals Yuuri’s moan with a kiss. He moves slowly at first, the slide of his spit-slicked hand almost too much with the way Yuuri writhes beneath him. 

“ _Vicchan_ ,” he moans, lapsing into a string ofJapanese that Victor will interrogate him for later. 

He picks up the pace, sitting back for better leverage. 

“So beautiful,” he says, voice broken, “I love seeing you come apart beneath me, my Yuuri–“

Yuuri pulls him close, bucking hips to grind them together. Victor acquiesces, bearing his hips down in shallow thrusts to meet him. Yuuri wraps his legs around him again, hands everywhere, tugging his hair, clutching his ass to bring them impossibly closer. 

“That's it, come for me, Yuuri,” Victor says, unsure of his language as he speaks against Yuuri’s neck. 

Yuuri locks his legs around Victor’s hips as he comes apart, moaning deep and quivering beneath him. Victor follows a moment later from the sounds of Yuuri’s release, his hips moving as Yuuri gasps from the overstimulation.

Spent, Victor rolls off of Yuuri, chasing his lips for a last sweet kiss. Yuuri smiles into it. 

Victor barely has the energy to turn to the bedside table to grab a few tissues and haphazardly clean them up before Yuuri is snuggling against him, ready to sleep. His own eyelids are heavy. 

“Victor?”

“Yes, my Yuuri?” He says, half-asleep. 

“Did you set an alarm?”

“Of course I did, _katsudon_ …”

 

* * *

 

Victor wakes up to the morning sun filtering through the slats of the window blinds. He groans, shading his eyes, and turns over. He faces Yuuri, face relaxed in sleep. A moment later, his eyes flutter open, sleepily latching onto Victor’s. He smiles, his eyes flicking over to the nightstand.

All at once, Yuuri gasps, shooting up and over Victor like a torpedo to grab for the clock radio on the night table.

“Yuuri–what’s wrong–”

“Victor!” He cries, body stilled splayed over his like a latch-hook searching for a loop, “You forgot to set an alarm! We’re going to miss our train!”

“Wha–”

Yuuri scrambles over him, landing on the floor with a thump before shooting up and zooming around the room as if his heels were on fire. Victor sits up, dropping his head to his hands.

“I’m so sorry Yuuri–”

“Don’t say sorry! Get ready! Quick!” Yuuri says, only half in English as he pulls on a pair of jeans and topples over, both feet in one leg. 

They manage to gather all their things and get out the door in record time, Victor barely able to grab his phone charger with the way Yuuri had a death grip on his wrist. Guilt gnaws at him during the elevator ride down to the lobby, but Yuuri is too anxious to hear any of the clumsy condolences and apologies that tumble out of his mouth, his eyes wide and forward, knuckles white as he clutches the handle of his suitcase. 

Victor hails a cabs while Yuuri paces behind him on the sidewalk, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. Yuuri mumbles an apology when he nearly ploughs into a walker and Victors tugs on his arm when a yellow taxi pulls up.

“Penn Station, please,” Victor says as they slide in the back seat. 

The drive is uneventful; Victor is used to the aggravating St. Petersburg traffic, and Manhattan is not even close to that level. Yuuri fidgets in his seat, however, switching back and forth between the Amtrak app and the time with record speed. 

“The train is on time,” Yuuri says simply.

Victor bites his own lip at Yuuri’s defeated tone. He ducks his head around the driver’s seat. 

“Is there any faster route?”

“Traffic is bad this time time of day,” the driver says, “Nothing I can do.”

Victor sits back in his seat, crossing his arms and flicking his eyes over to Yuuri. 

“I’m sorry. You told me to set an alarm twice.”

Yuuri closes his eyes, breathing deep through his nose and sighing out. He turns towards him, eyes open and tired. 

“It’s not your fault. I could have set an alarm, too.” 

Victor resists the urge lunge across the backseat and wrap Yuuri up in his arms to reassure him. He settles for reaching for his hand across the divide. Yuuri meets him halfway.

The cab driver stops at a red light as cars crawl as a snails pace across the intersection, binding up traffic even when the light turns green. Sirens blare and lights flash down the road, the unmistakable signs of an car accident. 

Yuuri checks his phone once more one-handed, the other still occupied with Victor’s. He deflates, his shoulder sagging under his bulky coat.

“We missed it. The train just departed.”

“I’m sure there will be other trains.”

“Not until later. We’ll miss our reservation. The owners of the Inn were very adamant about that.”

“Well, then maybe we don’t want to stay somewhere owned by people with so little compassion,” Victors says grumpily, breaking their contact and crossing his arms. 

Yuuri turns away too, and they spend the rest of the ride in silence, finally able to cross the intersection once a police officer arrives to direct traffic. Yuuri pays the cab driver quickly once they pull up and Victor gets their bags from the trunk before the driver has a chance to come help. The station is crowded, but they quickly find a kiosk and get in line.

“Maybe we can find a different place to stay,” Victor says, attempting to keep his voice light now that they’re at a stand-still again.

Yuuri just nods. A month ago, at the height of the competition season, Victor found Yuuri fervently searching the internet, about forty tabs open in one browser, all dealing with vacation spots in the vast possibilities of America.

“I want to show you the other place I called home, for awhile at least,” he said with a blush that must have reached his toes. 

Victor threw his arms around him then, exclaiming what a magnificent idea it was indeed. Victor originally suggested going to see Yuuri’s former home in Detroit, but Yuuri quickly rejected that plan without explanation. They spent hours searching when they finally came across the quaint lake town of Skaneateles, New York. The bed and breakfast was run by an older couple who specialized in a spa-like experience overlooking the picturesque lake. 

“Perfect!” They said in tandem. 

The elated Yuuri of that day is far away as they wait in line at the Penn Station ticket kiosk, tapping his foot and fidgeting with a stray thread on his jacket. Victor searches for right words, something that would lift Yuuri’s face into a true smile. He looks around the drab train station, spying a red sign with white letters out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey!” He says, grabbing Yuuri’s arm and turning him towards the _AVIS_ sign, “Why don't we rent a car? We can see America in style!” Victor says.

“ _You_ know how to drive?” Yuuri asks, turning to look at him with one eyebrow raised. 

“Why so shocked, Mr. Katsuki?”

“Not... shocked,” Yuuri corrects, “It’s just that driving isn't usually a child prodigy’s main priority. We always took the metro in St. Petersburg.”

Victor scoffs, disengaging his arm from around Yuuri and grasps his hand instead. He smiles, and wonder of all wonders, Yuuri returns it. Victor tugs on his hand, and he follows him to the rental car desk. 

He fills out several pages of paperwork in blocky, precise English letters. Yuuri advises him to get insurance, and he fills out another set of forms. He digs around in his wallet for his license, nervous as the attendant scans it. The language is obviously Russian, and American attitudes towards Russians are mixed at best. 

The attendant proves to be apathetic enough that she just hands him the keys, directing them to where they will pick up the vehicle. 

“Yay!” Victor says when he’s finally behind the wheel of the red Toyota Camry. He had wanted a sports car, but Yuuri insisted they be sensible. “Picture time!”

They take a snapchat of Victor behind the wheel, Yuuri peeking in from the side of the frame. He sends it to Phichit and Minako and a host of others that Victor rattles off while pulling out of the parking garage.

Yuuri’s good mood is temporarily waylaid once they are out on the busy roads of Manhattan.

“Uhh, Victor, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Victors scoffs. “In St. Petersburg we have traffic like men. This is nothing,” he says, laying the accent on thick, inciting another laugh from Yuuri. His heart swells. 

Yuuri navigates with the GPS on his phone, muttering that Victor will be paying his data bill this month in between directions to the next destination. After a few turn-arounds and more that one sudden stop (“Same to you, _suka_!” Victor had said when someone cut him off, flipping him off in the rear-view mirror), they make it across the George Washington bridge into New Jersey.

The industrial grit of New Jersey quickly morphs into the rural kitsch of Pennsylvania. Yuuri’s phone directs them through it all, until they finally manage to cross the border back into New York State. They chat easily about the scenery, the way the Catskill mountain range gives a picturesque beauty to the land still barren from an obviously harsh winter, and Yuuri grows more and more relaxed as heavy traffic dissipates. 

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly while they pass through a particularly thick area of forest.

Victor takes care to keep his expression neutral. “For what?”

“I overreacted to us being late for the train, and I let you think it was your fault and that I blamed you. I don’t. Not at all. I could have set an alarm too, I shouldn’t have made it only your responsibility.”

Victor frowns, his chest tightening. “Yuuri…”

“I know I become… overly anxious at times. When there’s no skating to worry about it just moves on to something else.” He head hangs; he rests it in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

Victor swallows, searching for the right words. “I accept your apology, _katsudon_. We both could have done better with remembering.”

Yuuri nods, face still hidden. Victor looks back at the road.

They drive for another hour, Yuuri’s mood somewhat down again no matter how many insane roadside features they spot Western New York. It’s a while before before they pass through another town, the yellow welcome sign garish in the stark landscape.

_Welcome to West Elm!_ It reads. 

“West Elm? How charming!” Victor says.

The town doesn’t live up to the expectation of its name, however, as they drive further into the drab and almost deserted downtown area. 

“Hmmm charming name, without much charm at all,” Victor mutters.

“You should stop for gas,” Yuuri says, “We still have an hour to go.”

He pulls into a small station Yuuri points out. Yuuri goes inside for snacks while Victor manages to get the gas pump to take his credit card and beginning functioning.

He finishes topping off the tank with the prop on, rummaging around in the front seat for his sunglasses to ward against the midday sun. He scans the immediate area, finding mostly ugly buildings in a modern style in disrepair or empty with a ‘for sale’ sign in the window.

His eyes linger on a sign sitting in a muddy heap of melting snow, pointing down a narrow side street off of the main road. _West Elm Ice Rink: Year Round Free Skate Sundays 1-4._

He hums to himself as he turns to watch Yuuri through the window of the gas station, lounging back against the car, crossing his ankles. He peruses an aisle of packaged snacks, granola bars and protein bars and chocolate bars in all shapes and sizes. He makes his selection and pays a sleepy looking attendant before coming back outside. 

He holds himself so together, Victor observes, Yuuri’s arms close to the center of his body as he opens the candy bar. The same arms that would blossom open on the ice with overwhelming expression.

“Want to go skating?” Victor asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Yuuri looks like he’s about to laugh, but it comes out only as a small smile. “Ok”

Victor nearly jumps for joy, grabbing Yuuri’s arm and escorting him chivalrously to his side of the car before swinging back around to the driver’s side. 

No matter where you are in the world, ice skating rinks were always giant buildings painted grey or dull blue, with only small windows near the roof covered in frost, Victor observes. Apparently, Sunday skates are a popular pastime in this dreary little town just outside of the bustling part of the outer-city, and he struggles to find a parking spot even with Yuuri enthusiastically pointing out empty areas that all ended up being fire lanes. 

When they finally find a space, Yuuri hops out of the car, getting into the trunk to rummage around before Victor can even open his door.

“Yuuri, what are you–” he starts, before Yuuri turns around and plops something soft and stretchy over his head.

It’s a beanie cap, one of the black, thick kind that Yuuri sometimes wears outside, but never while he’s on the ice. 

He touches it. “My birthday isn’t for six months, Yuuri.”

“Someone might recognize you,” Yuuri insists.

Victor laughs under his breath, reaching into Yuuri’s bag to get another hat, this one blue and black striped. 

“You are the Grand Prix silver medalist, are you not? You are just as recognizable as me.”

Yuuri mutters something that sounds like “Hardly” under his breath, submitting to Victor artfully arranging the cap on his head. 

“There,” Victor says, “We are the perfect lovers incognito.” 

Once they get to the front door, there’s a small line to get in, and Victor absentmindedly plays with Yuuri’s hand by his side while they wait. Yuuri has grown accustomed to Victor’s tactile way of being, and Victor had learned to ask and look for the signs showing him what Yuuri was comfortable with. It wasn't shame, but a need for privacy. Small, silent touches between them always drew a favorable response. 

Nasally American accents surround them, different from the elongated vowels and clipped consonants of the city. People around them shout and hug as they meet up with skating partners and friends, some with their own well-loved skates slung over their shoulders, others content to rent a pair of hockey skates from the arena instead. 

When they reach the front of the line, Victor cheerfully greets the skate rental attendant. 

“Two passes for the free skate, please!” 

The girl, looking perhaps a bit younger than Yurio, pauses her rummaging to look up. 

“That'll be five-twenty–”

She stops, her eyes already widening once she takes in the sight of Victor, flicking down to his trademark gold blades on the skates slung over his shoulder. His current blade guards were loose and prone to slipping off. 

Yuuri tenses beside him, but Victor leans an elbow against the over-painted counter, flashing the girl a trademark smile and wink. 

“And perhaps a little extra for your discretion, yes?”

The girl seems to remember that she has the ability to speak, stammering out an “I’m sorry” and a “that won't be necessary I can keep quiet.”

They leave the window with matching red plastic bracelets around their wrists. 

“See,  _solnyshka_ , no drama.”

In truth, Victor had never been bothered by fans or admirers–but he could see that Yuuri was intent on remaining anonymous. Not a problem, it would be all worth to see Yuuri skate free of pressure. 

Despite the crowds, more people seem intent on socializing than ice skating, so the rink is not over-crowded. They lace up on a bench next to the locker rooms. 

Yuuri finishes before Victor, and he watches the skaters go around the rink. 

“Come on, Yuuri, I'll teach you how to skate, don't be nervous,” Victor says in his best impression of an American accent, the words coming out thick and hearty and clearly for the benefit of the old couple eyeing them suspiciously from the snack bar. He puts his mouth close to Yuuri’s ear, “I won't let you fall.”

Yuuri laughs, the first true laugh Victor has heard all day since leaving the city. He nudges him away playfully, getting up and swinging through the rink’s opening before Victor can catch him. 

“Why you little–” 

Victor chases after him, skating out onto the ice through throngs of people where Yuuri’s laughing face still skates away from him. He catches up to him, grabbing the back of his sweater and pulling him against his front. 

“Victor!!” Yuuri squawks. 

A few eyes flick toward them from Yuuri’s exclamation, and they stifle their laughter. They fall into a groove, skating with the crowd in a circle around the rink. Victor guides Yuuri to his side, settling for holding his hand. Some eyes linger on their faces, some on their connected hands, but no one approaches them. Victor shifts so he is skating backwards, looking into Yuuri’s eyes as their hands remain connected between them.

“I’ve missed watching you skate.”

Yuuri blushes beautifully, almost criminally hidden by his scarf and hat. “I’m not really doing anything, and it’s only been a few days since we were on the ice at St. Petersburg.”

Victor pulls him closer. “A few days too _long_.”

Victor wishes he could have Yuuri completely to himself in that moment, but as their skates draw closer, so do the glances of others around them. They aren’t naive, they have skated in rinks all over the world–in places with different creeds and beliefs across the board. Still, he doesn’t want a few glances to ruin their fun. 

He returns to his place at Yuuri’s side. 

“This is a nice rink,” he says, “More suited to hockey, of course, but that’s typical in America.”

Yuuri nods, clearly taking it all in.

Children skate around them, spraying snow all over the place as they show off new techniques. Teenagers in hoodies glide around the rink broodingly, clearly self-conscious. Victor has always been fascinated with the way people can casually enjoy skating, without it being their life’s work. Two girls skate an obvious race across the rink, laughing until they both land against the barrier to break their streaks. 

There are more than a few girls in tights and basic costumes practicing figures near the center of the rink, their exclusivity apparent. They practice singles and spins, and off to the side is a boy, looking all of fourteen, wearing black figure skates and an expression of pure frustration.

Yuuri pulls on his hand the moment after Victor spots the boy. Victor allows himself to be led, following Yuuri’s sightline where the boy continues to struggle with nailing a basic stop from high speed without stumbling. After a fourth failed attempt, he falls, barely throwing his arms out to break the fall.

“Hmm, if he keeps leaning forward like that he’ll never get it–What do you think, Yuuri?” Victor turns, finding his hand empty and Yuuri gone, “Yuuri?”

He’s already stooped down next to the boy, helping him to his feet. The boy’s face is beet red when Victor glides over. He stammers an apology to Yuuri, brushing snow off of his clothes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get in your way–”

He finally looks up from his skates, eyes widening as he takes in Yuuri’s face, and then Victor’s. 

“But you’re–You’re–” he says, gesturing widely before a huge smile lights up his face.

“Yes, and we’ll give you an autograph after if you don't say anything,” Victor interpret, keeping his voice light and friendly even when Yuuri looks like he’s in the midst of swallowing a whole melon.

The boy straightens up, miming zipping up his lips and throwing away the key. Victor laughs, leaning his elbow against Yuuri’s shoulder.

“How about…” the boy says, halfway between shy and something else, “You teach me how to stop without falling instead?”

Victor grins, always enjoying someone who is courageous enough to be forward with him. Yuuri is already nodding his head, expression turned serious. 

“What’s your name?” Yuuri asks.

The boy stands straighter. “Jonathan.”

Yuuri nods again. “Show us what you can do.”

Jonathan skates away to build up momentum, executing crossovers and backwards technique with adequate form,but every time he comes to stop from that speed, he either catches a toepick on the ice or stumbles forward.

“You have the right idea, but you keep losing confidence right at the most important moment. Don't be afraid,” Yuuri says, “I have fallen plenty. It's not as bad as you think.”

“I'm used to falling,” the Jonathan, and strangely, it's a calm statement. 

Victor cocks his head to the side, preferring to watch. Yuuri demonstrates again, performing a stop so basic he could do it in his sleep. Jonathan attempts two more tries, his toe pick catching enough on the second try that he falls again.

Yuuri helps him up. “You _will_ get it. Stopping is difficult until one day it is not.”

At that moment, a large crew of boys in hockey jerseys skate behind them, laughing in that mean-spirited way only boys of a certain age can manage. One flicks Jonathan behind the head, speeding away while another one calls out– 

“Fairy!”

Victor face burns, anger threatening to burst through his ears.

“Come back here, you little jerks! Who raised you–Yuuri what are you doing?”

His anger dissipates as Yuuri disappears from his side, having taken off in the opposite direction, feet flying and face tense with concentration as he skates around and in front of where the group of boys were, finding an open spot where there are less skaters. Victor’s eyes widen as he recognizes that expression, the way he’s moving his arms, how he shifts onto one foot– 

The crowd gasps as Yuuri flies into the air, managing four rotations before touching down with a somewhat shaky landing. Cheers erupt, some people somehow with their phones out recording the whole thing. Victor picks his jaw up from the floor and skates over to him. 

“Yuuri!!”

The crowd begins to speak all at once. 

“Wait that's Katsuki Yuuri! He's the silver medalist from the Grand Prix!”

“What's the Grand Prix?”

“I can't believe he's here!”

“Wait, who's that with him?”

“It's Victor Nikiforov!”

Victor throws his arms around Yuuri, the flurry of people around them fading into background noise. Yuuri is stiff in his arms at first, obviously still angry, but quickly relaxes. 

“He is such a curious thing, my Yuuri,” Victor says into the crux of his shoulder, grinning. 

“What?” Yuuri says, always acting on the defensive, but secretly pleased. 

Victor backs up, holding him by the shoulders to look in his eyes. 

“Skate with me.”

Of course that is an impossible feat at that point, what with the crowd realizing that there are two international, medal-winning figure skaters in their midst. They consent to the onslaught, signing skates and bits of paper and phone cases thrusted at them from the figure skaters who had previously ignored them from the center of rink. One middle aged woman asks if they would pose for a picture in the local paper. A few of the girls tentatively ask if they would skate for them.

Yuuri does a bit of his step sequence from his free program and nails a double lutz to the ‘oohs and aahs’ of the crowd. Victor joins him for a somewhat synchronized version of his “Stay Close to Me” program before succumbing to vanity and flinging himself into a perfect quadruple flip. 

The crowd dissipates after a while, fully slacked in their craving for celebrity contact, and the public skate time comes to an end. Soon enough only Jonathan and a few other figure skaters are left on the ice with them. 

“Thank you for–for doing that,” he says to Yuuri, “They give me a hard time, but I don't let it get to me. Once they saw what you could do–well they have to admit that figure skating is something!”

Victor frowns, wondering if his parents know that he is regularly harassed at the ice skating rink. He swallows down his comments, however, as Yuuri shakes his hand and smiles. 

“You have a lot of potential. Maybe we’ll see you at a competition someday.”

Jonathan's eyes widen to the size of ping-pong balls. 

“That's my dream! I want to compete in the same rink as you both!”

Victor reaches out to shake his hand too, the grip confident if a bit hesitant. “We’ll see you there.”

They say their goodbyes to Jonathan, leaving the ice to take their skates off. 

“That was lovely,” Victor says, “See Yuuri, there’s no harm in a little publicity.”

Yuuri smirks as he unites his laces, loosening them until he can slip the whole skate off. 

“Now as your coach I should scold you for doing a sloppy quadruple toe loop without being properly warmed up, yeah?”

“Perhaps you should.”

Victor laughs, hugging him close with one arm. Yuuri leans into it, gazing back out onto the ice where Jonathan attempts his stop again with little success. 

He purses his lips. “He's too old, Yuuri. Especially if he's only just nailing the basics. You know it.”

“Don’t say that!” Yuuri snaps back, his voice irritated. “Who says we won't see him in a few years?”

At that moment, Jonathan turns his right foot just right and eases to a graceful snowplow stop. He raises both hands in the air in victory, nearly losing his balance in the process. Yuuri claps loudly while Victor yells “There it is!!” Jonathan turns to them, blushing again, giving a final wave before skating to the exit on the other side of the rink. 

Victor relaxes, face settling into a smile as he takes the black cap off of his head. “This is why I can't stand to be away from you for too long. Who else would remind me that the impossible is possible?” 

Yuuri blushes again from the compliment, and Victor leans over to whisper in his ear.

“I still get overwhelmed when I see you skate. Even just your little show leaves me wanting more.”

Yuuri gasps, so soft it’s almost imperceptible. Suddenly, the freezing cold ice rink feels over-warm, and by the urgent look on Yuuri’s face he feels the same way. Yuuri grabs him by the hand to lead him outside as soon as their skates are safely in their bag, but the owners of the rink stop them on their way out to shake their hands. Victor is overly gracious, hoping that the fevered way he and Yuuri’s eyes flick towards each other isn't taken for rudeness as they hurry away.

They make it through the last throng of people and into the damp outside air. Yuuri’s grip on his hand tightens, and he pulls him towards the backside of the rink. Luckily, it’s deserted. Victor backs Yuuri up until he is against the wall, pressing against him and capturing his mouth in a kiss.

Yuuri relaxes against him, opening Victor’s mouth with his own and dipping his tongue inside. Victor shifts his feet to get impossibly closer, blindly sliding the cap off of Yuuri’s head and letting it fall to the ground. He grips his hair to better tilt Yuuri’s mouth up to his own. Yuuri’s hands wander, the sublime chill of them against the bare skin of Victor’s back making him shiver as he slides them beneath the layers of his coat and shirt.

“You–you are amazing,” Victor says between kiss after kiss. “I’ll never tire of watching you.”

“Victor…” Yuuri gasps against his lips, panting as Victor moves to kiss and bite at his neck, not enough to make a mark, but enough to make Yuuri sigh softly.

Victor’s hand moves down, grasping onto Yuuri’s belt for a moment before flattening his palm against his groin, feeling the growing hardness there. Yuuri hisses from the pressure, fingernails digging into his back.

“Victor!” Yuuri gasps as Victor lowers himself to one knee, looking around frantically.

“Is this ok with you?” Victor asks seriously. 

Yuuri swallows, his throat undulating from the movement. He lays a hand in victor’s hair, softly stroking it back from his face where he is prostrated before him. 

“Yes, _please._ ”

Victor wastes no time getting Yuuri’s zipper and button undone. He pushes his boxers down, his breath fog in the rapidly cooling air. Yuuri is half-hard already when Victor takes the tip into his mouth, reveling in the way Yuuri grasps and pulls slightly at his hair when he sucks. 

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri says, his hand flying away from Victor’s head, “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Victor looks up, through his eyelashes fully aware of how he looks with Yuuri’s cock half in his mouth. He lets it drop away, taking one of Yuuri’s hands in his to place it back on his head. 

“Do it.”

Yuuri’s eyes widen but he doesn’t have much time to react once Victor takes him into his mouth again in one fell swoop. Victor groans around it as both his hands make their way into his hair. He works his mouth up and down, searching for exactly the right movement that will make Yuuri _pull_.

Yuuri breathes deeply above him, eyes closed as he takes in the pleasure. 

“ _Yes_ , Victor, that feels so good–”

Victor speeds up his movements at the praise, hooking an arm under Yuuri’s leg to sling it over his shoulder, taking him in enough to swallow around the head of his cock in his throat.

Yuuri lets out a shout, grasping and pulling on Victor’s hair enough to make him leak inside his own pants and suck harder on the cock in his mouth, looking up again to see Yuuri looking down at him, watching.

“That’s it…”

Victor takes the praise and runs with it, working his tongue along the underside. Yuuri begins to move his hips in earnest, fucking gently into Victor’s mouth. The denim of Yuuri’s pants scratches at his face as he takes it, opening up for him until his name becomes a mantra in Yuuri’s mouth.

“Victor, I’m gonna–” Yuuri, says, starting to back away.

Victor surges forward, his nose buried in the thatch of hair at the base of Yuuri’s cock, taking him even deeper as Yuuri comes, hips bucking as spends down Victor’s throat. 

Victor swallows what he can and licks up the rest. Yuuri pulls him up wildly, almost causing them to stumble over as Victor unhooks Yuuri’s leg from over his shoulder. Yuuri turns them and presses Victor against the wall, planting a filthy kiss on his mouth still slack from his work. 

“Victor… _my_ Victor…”

Victor’s heart swells as Yuuri pulls away from the kiss, his going down to grip at Victor’s belt buckle.

“No,” Victor says, stilling his hands, “You can see to me later.”

Yuuri nods, understanding the unspoken words behind the gesture. They kiss slowly, Yuuri’s fingers curled into the collar of Victor’s jacket, their previous urgency sated for the moment. A gust of wind blows through, breaking them apart with a shiver. 

Victor rubs his hands over Yuuri’s arms, hoping to warm him. “Come on, we still have an hour to drive.”

Yuuri smiles, taking one of Victor’s hands and kissing his palm once, and then again at juncture where his ring sits. He laces their fingers together, picking up their bags with his other hand and slinging them over his shoulder. It had started to snow while they had been under cover; the wet, heavy stuff of the late season. A few flakes cling to their jackets and hair as they walk in silence back to the car. 

Their breath fogs up the windshield as Victor warms up the car, turning the heaters on full blast and handing Yuuri his gloves from where they had abandoned them in the earlier warmth of midday. Yuuri holds his phone, eyeing the clock before switching to his snapchat app.

“Smile,” he says, holding up the camera.

Victor smiles goofily, waving even though he knows it will be blurry. Yuuri bends over to type out the caption, something in Japanese characters that Victor can’t read.

“Mari will be surprised to see you driving. I didn’t send her the picture from earlier,” Yuuri says, mischievous smile on his face.

“Wait until you see what I can really do, Katsuki Yuuri! We don’t have much time left to get to the Inn,” he puts the car in reverse, backing out and glancing at Yuuri in case his nerves had returned.

Yuuri smiles at him, however, eyes shining.

“We’ll make it. We always do.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> All locations mentioned in this fic are real places, except for the fictional town of West Elm, which I based off of my own failing industrial town in upstate New York. I never had the courage to learn to stop when I took figure skating lessons when I was younger, and I never overcame that fear, unlike Jonathan, so maybe I'm living vicariously through him. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Comments are cherished like small baby foxes.


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